Prepare to be blown away—or rather, carried away on huge muscular wings—by this blissfully outlandish, bracingly-smart, tour de force about a teen who has to come to terms with relinquishing control for the first time as she falls for the hot new…pterodactyl…at school. After all, everybody wants him!
Shiels is very pleased with her perfectly controlled life (controlling others while she’s at it). She’s smart, powerful, the Student Body Chair, and she even has a loving boyfriend. What more could a girl ask for?
But everything changes when the first-ever interspecies transfer student, a pterodactyl named Pyke, enrolls at her school. There’s something about him—something primal—that causes the students to lose control whenever he’s around. Even Shiels, the seemingly perfect self-confident girl that she is, can’t keep her mind off of him, despite her doting boyfriend and despite the fact that Pyke immediately starts dating Jocelyn, the school’s fastest runner who Shiels has always discounted as a nobody.
Pyke, hugely popular in a school whose motto is to embrace differences, is asked to join a band, and when his band plays at the Autumn Whirl dance, his preternatural shrieking music sends everyone into a literal frenzy. No one can remember what happened the next day, but Shiels learns that she danced far too long with Pyke, her nose has turned purple, and she may have done something with her boyfriend that she shouldn’t have. Who’s in control now?
Hilarious and relatable (despite the dinosaur), Hot Pterodactyl Boyfriend is about a teen who must come to terms with not being in control of all things at all times, break free of her mundane life, discover who her true self is, and, oh, finding out that going primal isn’t always a bad thing.
Hot Pterodactyl Boyfriend I It started as a speck in the east, a hint of black that might easily have been a crow. The sky was full of crows in late September, crows by the thousands with their squawking, nervy calls, the way they would mass on a stand of leaf-losing trees, a fractured black cloud of them. It might’ve been a lone crow, and maybe that was why Shiels turned her head and looked up.
She was stepping out of Mr. Postlethwaite’s portable classroom, his forgettable English class, already checking her text messages. Autumn Whirl was less than ten days away, and the band was not yet chosen. Rebecca Sterzl was never going to get a handle on that committee. Shiels would have to step in herself, but how to do it deftly, without setting off a bomb? She needed Rebecca to function still for lesser duties. And then . . . a speck. Maybe a crow? No reason to even look. But she did.
Was it before, or just after, that a worm in her gut bit her? It was such an odd feeling. An organ pain, almost, from something inside, sleeping somewhere—her plumbing perhaps—about which she had been completely unaware. It had never bitten her before. There was no reason to pay attention.
The speck got larger. Even from a great distance it seemed possible to tell that the wings were not usual. They arched and seemed, somehow, blacker than crows’ wings, and became larger even though the speck was not heading directly her way but moving in a zigzag. Then the wings weren’t actually black but a sort of metallic purple. Royal, maybe, or what a truly harsh band might wear at a three a.m. blast with spook lights and a lot of stage smoke.
That’s one face-rake of a bird, she thought—“face-rake” being the term that Sheldon had invented, having stepped on a rake a few weeks before.
Zig, zag. North-south, north-south. How to explain this weirdness to Sheldon? For three years they had shared news of everything fractured. Like the parakeet impersonating a baby on the bus, the video of which he had texted her, with commentary. And Principal Manniberg’s hair loss pills, which he had left out on his desk for Shiels to see, as plain as day, and which she had told Sheldon about later when they’d been hacking into the student newspaper blog because they’d lost the admin password and they were the only ones who knew it.
Or used to know it.
They shared everything.
Now Sheldon wasn’t here, he was tutoring math lab in the south basement, so she had to be aware of every oddity for him, especially how the whole crowd of students simply seemed to know at the same time to cock their heads and gaze out over the sports field, the track. But the football players didn’t look. They were all smashing into the tackle dummies and whatever else football players smashed into. The cross-country runners were on the track. They didn’t look either, but kept running in little clumps of legginess. Shiels was only vaguely aware of them in the first few moments.
More than twenty kids were standing with their books and backpacks, and their skimpy blouses and short skirts, with bare legs or thin pants—everyone shivering. Probably five were standing exactly like Shiels, with phones out, supposedly checking the world. But the world was forgotten.
One freaking huge royal purple non-crow was cutting a path through the gray sky to their little patch of green.
“Holy crackers,” someone said.
Zig to the north. Zag to the south. Not a bite, now, in Shiels’s gut—if that was what it was. Something else. Something worse.
She wasn’t feeling any part of the cold wind.
Her phone fell out of her hand and bonked onto the hard old pavement. As she bent to pick it up, she thought: Martians could be landing, and I would still bend to pick up my phone.
The purple thing, “it”—he—was sharp in many places. That was becoming clear. Sharp in the cool angle of his wings—God, those wings!—and sharp in his gaze, in the way he looked them all over as he passed.
He stared right at her with huge, dark, ancient eyes. She flushed from the roots of her hair. It was as if a switch had been flicked to percolate.
He circled round—like a gymnast on iron rings, rippled purple muscles in a chest made for flying. Was that when she dropped her phone?
Did she drop her phone again?
A beast with wings circling, circling. And that spear of a nose. Shiels saw, like everyone else, exactly what he was going for—Jocelyne Legault, with her bouncing blond ponytail, oblivious to the danger. Those skinny, white, tireless legs in her yellow shoes with her pumping little stick arms, rail-like shoulders, boobless torso—her impossible body, really, kept impossible by her daily hours of leg-lung workouts around and around that dreary track.
“Jocelyne!” Shiels cried out. It was in her nature to act, as difficult as it was to shake off the stupefying sight of an ancient predator suddenly appearing high above the athletic complex. “Jocelyne!” Others, too, awakened, yelled to the cross-country champion. How many races had she won over the years? But she was modest to a fault. The only way she could possibly justify spending all those hours alone chugging around would be to win an Olympic gold medal in something. Was there even an Olympic event for cross-country running? Possibly not. She was a tiny, robotic, overachieving nobody—not Shiels’s summation, but rather what was commonly understood in the information cloud of all things Vista View High. Jocelyne Legault could outrun a sweating, grunting, gasping pack of two hundred leggy girls racing through backcountry trails, but she would never get a date to Autumn Whirl—would never break training in the first place. Impossible!
Yet all those social distinctions fell away like mist when the monster circled above her. Her stride did not falter. She was, as ever, alone. Was she sprinting? No, it was just that her regular pace was crushingly quick, so no one could keep up with her, not even the senior boys, who were clumped behind her, possibly lapped already. Jocelyne Legault was in her own universe, as usual, when the dark-eyed, spear-beaked thing circled closer and closer. Obviously aiming for her.
Bob-swish, bob-swish went her tidy blond ponytail.
What was Shiels trying to do, running toward her schoolmate? Did she think she could personally beat back the monster, send him flying off like so many crows squawking around the roadside carcass of a struck raccoon? (Crows were squawking far above, a murder of them, in the old estimation. Shiels knew the word, thought of it briefly as she and the others—others were running now with her—raced to save Jocelyne.)
The gates of the sports field were chained shut, loose enough to let in those on foot, one by one, but tight enough to discourage a bike or motorcycle, and absolutely too narrow to allow a vehicle. As she pushed through the small opening, Shiels thought maybe she should order one of the football players to drive his truck through the locked gate and scare off the purple fiend. Any number of football players drove trucks. The parking lot was adjacent, and probably eight or twelve young jocks would have raced into action if she’d unleashed the order. But the football players were still oddly oblivious to the threat. If they were an army, Shiels thought, we’d be lost in any sudden attack.
“Hey! Hey! Get off her!” she yelled.
She was through the opening in the chain gate, on the track now, sprinting, her version of a sprint. Her pants were loose enough and her shoes were sensible—she could be fashionable, on a given day, but usually went for comfort, which Sheldon respected.
She was the last person anyone would have expected to lead the charge against an invading beast. A leader in most other ways, yes, of course. But this too? Yet there she was. Others were following, though the football players were only just starting to look around.
“Jocelyne!” Shiels screamed. Finally the runner glanced over her shoulder, as if some competitor might be about to overtake her. The shadow of those wings darkened her face; her eyes lifted, her arm shot up just as the creature crashed into her like a leathery bag of rocks falling from the sky.
Shiels stumbled then too, but over her own feet, and nearly wiped out. When she recovered, the thing—it, he—was standing on the track in the north end, near the sprint start line. He had risen up on his skinny reptile legs, and had his wings outstretched—he looked enormous—with beak raised as if about to spear poor fallen Jocelyne Legault.
Shiels glanced around desperately, her mind for a moment full of the possibility that someone on the track might have a javelin she could hurl at the beast. But there was no such thing, all she had was . . . her phone.
She saw the thing brandish its glistening beak, like something out of a hopeless Hollywood movie.
She kept running.
“Leave her alone! Get out of here! Scram!”
Down shrank the menacing beak. In folded the wings. The thing seemed to deflate before her as she approached; it folded up, batlike, until it looked more like a skinny umbrella, reached out improbable little three-fingered wing hands, and drew the crumpled body of Jocelyne Legault to its deeply muscled chest.
His deeply muscled chest.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Shiels yelled, as if the thing could talk.
He opened his mouth, one might even say conversationally. She was within striking distance of him now—for him to strike her, run her through with that lance of a beak. But she did not feel afraid.
She was aware of everyone else having stopped many paces away. Even the football squad, decked out in armor practically, was keeping a prudent distance.
“Back off now,” Shiels said. “She’s just a girl.” It was her student-body chair voice, her elected official persona, and in this unusual moment some small part of her actually felt like a “body chair,” whatever that might be, a powerful piece of equipment (not furniture, although Sheldon often spun bad puns from the image)—a sturdy instrument of power.
And it—he—was somehow a boy too, Shiels thought, as well as a creature. A very odd three-fingered boy with chest muscles rippling up his . . . fascinating purple hide as he lifted the fallen runner, who seemed to have fainted. He held her wrapped in his wings. Shiels thought for a moment he would spring into the air carrying her somehow, yet she could see at once how impossible it would be in the current configuration. He was holding her in his winged arms, which he would need to fly anywhere. His legs had claws too, but he would have to transfer Jocelyne . . .
“Put her down!” Shiels yelled.
He looked at Shiels then, like someone terribly old . . . and improbably wearing, she just now noticed, a backpack. (It was purplish; it blended into his hide.)
The yawning open again of the terrible beak. The thing spoke. “Not zo . . . Engliz yet,” he said.
Jocelyne Legault snuggled closer into his muscled chest (how hard does he have to work to fly, Shiels wondered?) like she had never snuggled into anything before in her life.
The crows were scatter-shrieking, thousands of them, it seemed, filling the air.
Shiels knew it, almost all of it, in a moment: that he hadn’t come to eat them at all, or attack Jocelyne Legault. No, he was a student—a very strange student, the first of his kind ever to attend Vista View High.
Alan Cumyn is the author of several wide-ranging and often wildly different novels. A two-time winner of the Ottawa Book Award, he has also had work shortlisted for the Governor General’s Award, the Giller Prize, and the Trillium Award. He teaches through the Vermont College of Fine Arts and is a past Chair of The Writers’ Union of Canada. He lives in Ontario, Canada.
Shiels, student body chair at Vista View High School, is always in control. When Pyke, the first pterodactyl-human hybrid transfer student, shows up at her school, Shiels desperately wants everyone to accept him and is ready to spin any of his dangerous actions in a positive light. Her worries begin to fade as the students not only accept him but are mysteriously drawn to him. Pyke’s presence starts to awaken primal instincts among the students, and those he intimately connects with, including Shiels and her classmate Jocelyne, are marked with purple noses. The more Pyke influences Shiels’s environment, the more she loses control, letting her other priorities—school, applying for college, her boyfriend—slip away. Shiels must decide how much of herself she is willing to sacrifice in order to be with Pyke. The title of this novel will be a big draw, but readers looking for a steamy romance may be disappointed. This novel is more of a cautionary tale about falling for the wrong boy. Shiels is not a sympathetic character, but as with many tragedies, teens will continue reading to see what she does next. While Pyke’s presence is a driving force of the book, he does not do or say all that much; little is known about his background other than that he has great chest muscles, is part dinosaur, has an accent,and is able to partially and fully change human girls into pterodactyls. VERDICT-A quirky additional purchase.–MarissaLieberman, East Orange Public Library, NJ
– School Library Journal, January 1, 2016
Inthis absurdist take on high school archetypes, student body chair Shiels Kranemeets the ultimate outsider, Pyke, a strangely alluring humanoid pterodactylwho flies into school unannounced and disrupts her meticulously controlledlife. Amid concerns that Pyke will be ostracized, he instead becomes half ofthe school’s newest power couple and the front man for a band with a raw animalmagnetism that beguiles the entire school. Through this bizarre filter, Cumyn(Tilt) simultaneously pokes fun at over-the-top genre trends and engages withan array of pertinent topics—slut-shaming and ruined reputations, awkward sex,fears of the other—without becoming preachy. Cumyn pulls no punches whethercommenting on the idol worship of high school football players (Pyke’sball-catching prowess quells an angry parental mob but ultimately leads todisaster) or following Shiels’s unimpeded exploration of her sexuality and desires.At heart, this is a deliciously weird and original contemplation of personalmetamorphosis, the intoxicating effects of lust, and the clarity that comeswith experience. Ages 14–up.
– Publishers Weekly *STARRED REVIEW*, December 22, 2015
“Eighteen? He didn’t look a day less than sixty-five million.” A pterodactyl crash-landing on the track outside Valley View High marks the beginning of a turbulent and charged senior year for the student body chair, Sheils. Prior to Pyke’s arrival as the school’s newest and, OK, oddest transfer student, Sheils is happily dating Sheldon, an academically inclined equal, and ready to apply to college, bound to follow in the footsteps of her physician parents. But Pyke awakens something in her, both physiologically and philosophically, and forces her to question the construct of her life. In spite of its out-there premise—ahem, dino romance—Cumyn’s tale rests rather firmly in the familiar coming-of-age territory with the questions it raises. Part romance, part paranormal romp, part classic contemporary, this hybrid novel’s strengths lie in its strong relatable characters and unique concept. Already an author with a wide range—from middle grade to YA to literary adult fare—Cumyn shows off his wingspan with this engaging, offbeat novel. — Jennifer Barnes
– Booklist, February 1, 2015
Never say never. He's hot. He'sin a band. Every girl wants him. He has claws, wings, and a beak. He can alsofly. When Pyke, the school's first interspecies transfer student, walks throughthe doors of Vista View High, student-body chair Shiels, who normally has itall together, goes bonkers (a mild understatement). Pyke's appearanceinvigorates everyone. He can catch a spiraling football pass like no one else.He can turn a school dance party into a whirling, orgiastic riot. He can turnShiels' nose the same tone of purple as his skin with some bump-and-grind dancemoves. He can also make her question everything she has ever stood for. Cumyn'slatest (Tilt, 2011, etc.) is certainly good fun, full of fresh new devices (tosay the least). However, not only is it hard to swallow, it's also long-winded.Clocking in at over 400 pages, the plot twists and turns and expands over andover until it completely tries the most patient readers, whose willingness tosuspend their disbelief for a story this ridiculous might lapse after the first250 or so pages. That said, the book is full of hilarious one-liners,straight-on characterizations, some hot sexual tension, and a doofus,headstrong heroine who is all a-flutter and dead set on protecting herprehistoric honey. That makes up for a lot. A first in interspecies lovestories? (Romance. 14-18)
– Kirkus Reviews, 1/1/16
Thisstrange, unique novel (with an awesome title) is essentially an extended riffon the fantastic notion of a pterodactyl boyfriend. Pyke, an interspeciestransfer student with humanlike legs and torso but with wings and a predatorybeak is literally dropped into a typical suburban high school, where he causesgeneral pandemonium and hysteria. The ensuing chaos is described from the pointof view of Shiels, a highly controlled senior who had been preoccupied withrunning student council, bossing her compliant boyfriend, and preparingapplications to exclusive colleges. Pyke thoroughly upends Shiels’s carefully managedlife simply by being himself. The pterodactyl boy barely speaks, but his exoticcharisma and animal sex appeal give him a bad-boy, rock-star image throughoutthe local high school and town. The boys want to be like him, the girls want tocuddle him, and their parents are aghast. Like Edward Scissorhands, Pykepossesses a dangerous combination of naïveté about human social conventions anda sharp weapon—in Pyke’s case, his beak. Inevitably, someone gets hurt, Pykebecomes a wanted criminal, and some of his smitten admirers, including bothShiels and her mother, break a lot of rules trying to save him.
Shielsis not a particularly likeable young woman in the early going, and readers wholike to identify with a positive main character may struggle to bear with herself-absorption. However, the book’s outrageous premise and mordant black humorkeep the action entertaining until Shiels finally learns some hard lessons.—WalterHogan.